Professor Snape
by Fallyn Irlandes
Summary: One-shots taking place in my Sister Stones universe, all from the pov of Severus.
1. Professor Snape

Severus Snape stared at his reflection. A rather somber-looking young man stared back, nose prominent as always, hair infuriatingly greasy despite everything he'd done to it, including tying it back. His best feature, his eyes, were somehow — miraculously — young, despite everything he'd seen and done in the past four years. His skin was thankfully devoid of anything resembling that of his father — either the drunken red or the maggot-riddled remains Tobias was left with as of his demise two years ago. _Unfortunate, that._ Severus smirked, the dark humor setting off the Slytherin green robes which were as unfamiliar to the former apprentice as his current title: _Master of Potions, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

He chuckled, feeling suddenly like a boy dressing up in adult clothes. Here he was, only twenty-one years old, and teaching Potions at Hogwarts. Sure, he'd been sub-teaching under Slughorn since he graduated four years ago, but he was now the youngest Potions Master on record. Lily would get a kick out of it, when he could get away long enough to laugh about it with her. Hell, even Potter would have to admit he'd earned it. Severus closed his eyes, savoring a vision of the young couple laughing with him as he "pretended" he'd poisoned Black's tea, and smiled—

No.

Dumbledore had been clear. He could not trust his Occlumency to protect such a personal memory, especially one tied to such emotions. He could not jeopardize his position within the Death Eaters for something so trivial as a joke with his oldest friend. He hated the thought of calling his friendship with Lily 'trivial', but compared with the war, he knew Dumbledore was right.

He'd send a letter after the Welcoming Feast, he decided with a sharp nod. He gave himself one more look-over — his cravat was crooked and he adjusted it, admiring the intricate silver edging — and turned on his heel, robes flaring out behind him.

Suppressing a grin, Severus left his rooms and strode for the Great Hall.

His footsteps echoed in the empty corridors, the familiar sound comforting in the midst of so much chaos. He let his mind settle, thoughts of the war drifting beneath thoughts of his failed attempt to get whatever Dumbledore had wanted from Slughorn before he retired, those sinking beneath 7th year Lucius Malfoy's early lessons on absorbing everything in his first year, which faded under his determination to make Potions less a class of collecting the future famous and more a class of scholarly discovery, which soon subsided with memories of how distant Slughorn had become in the last few years, coupled with a renewed promise to himself to be the absolute best.

He found himself in the Entrance Hall out of habit, facing the double doors. He drew himself up, gathered his Occlumency shields, prepared himself for the Welcoming Feast and the goldmine of information it always presented, and wrapped his thoughts in the persona he'd created on the walk up.

With one last exhale, Professor Snape pushed open the door.

(He knew full well the impression he gave — young, determined, serious, robes purposefully Slytherin after four years of apprentice gray and the luxury of a teacher's choice, sweeping aside the main doors as though they were beneath him. An ambitious man, withdrawn from others though somehow always present.)

The Hall was empty. Only the Head Table was occupied, the four long House tables awaiting the second-years and above to arrive at the main gate. Severus made his way along the Slytherin table — habits die hard, after all, and the familiarity was comforting — automatically scanning the staff ahead for an idea of their mental state. Dumbledore was there, of course, speaking comfortably with Professor Vector — _Septima,_ Severus told himself. _She's your colleague now._ To Septima's right was Bathsheda Babbling, then Pomona Sprout, talking animatedly with Mary McKinnon, who looked very much like her daughter. _He knows Marlene associates with the Potters. Pay attention to the matriarch; learn what you can._ Morpheus Ratigan was dozing in his chair, blissfully unaware of his new assistant, Irma Pince, glaring at her so-called "superior." The older woman caught Severus' eyes as he approached the table and he smiled with her.

Dumbledore coughed, and Severus remembered.

 _"You can't let them trust you, Severus. Voldemort has eyes everywhere, and he will know that you betray him daily. You cannot falter, not even now that Horace has gone. You must be the callous boy from Slytherin you pretended to be all those years ago."_

The reminder of his role set Severus' teeth and allowed him to quickly scan the other seats — Minerva's empty seat, Madam Hooch, Filius Flitwick, Madam Pomphrey, Selvinus Kettleburn, Hagrid. They were taking their cues from Dumbledore and smiling as though nothing was wrong, Severus noted. The only exception would be Flitwick, whose expression was somewhere between uncontrollably excited and deeply suspicious. _A Dueling champion,_ Severus remembered. He _would_ be concerned by the general air of mistrust, out of anyone. It was odd that he seemed so excited, though. _Probably ecstatic over this being Lockhart's last year,_ Severus grinned.

He ignored Sybil Trelawney, as he always did, though he couldn't help but overhear her informing Quirinus Quirrell of his approaching doom.

Only one face caught his attention: the man occupying the second-to-last seat at the table.

He was old, wearing green robes embroidered with black, with a grizzled face returning Severus' curious look with a piercing stare of his own. As Severus took the only seat available, which happened to be the chair next to the old man, he noticed the tip of the man's wand protruding from his sleeve.

"Valerius Aldbar," Severus greeted calmly. And, because he was playing to type and his every action would be reported and he knew what the Dark Lord would be looking for: "I'd no idea teaching an entire generation of students was less public than the Aurory."

He was referring, of course, to the man's infamous declaration of privacy following his devastating failure to stop a Death Eater attack two years before.

The previous Head Auror snorted. "Boy, I'm teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and I'm probably going to die at the end of the year, which with Slughorn's retirement leaves you as next year's Head of Slytherin. For the sake of time, don't pick a serpent's fight with me. I've got ten months to teach you how to take care of your House. Pay attention."

In order to give himself time to formulate a good response to such out-of-character boldness, Severus took a drink — _the teachers_ do _have wine, I owe Lucius a bottle of Ogden's._ "The rumored jinx has never actually killed anyone," he said at last.

Aldbar sighed. "There's a first time for everything." He stared down at his cup. "You stop thinking you've seen the last, after enough of 'em keep coming."

The doors opened, stopping him from saying anything else. The prefects led the older students in by groups.

"First lesson," Aldbar said, leaning towards him, "though I assume you already know it."

Severus glanced at him then studied the Slytherin table. "Popularity is a matter of seating as much as heritage," he murmured, repeating what Lucius had told him in his first year.

"Aye, but that's dependent on the carriages the deviant little buggers rode up here, and that relies on grouping from the Express, which relies on faded memories of last year. What stood out enough to prevent an entire House from sitting with Lockhart?"

And indeed, there was a space of at least two seats on each side of young Gilderoy Lockhart, who at seventeen had not yet achieved the fame he desired, much less enough to have a retired Auror recognize him in a sea of black robes. _You've done your homework, Auror._ Severus answered mildly, "I believe it was his stunt of changing the Ravenclaw common room's tapestries to reflect his features."

Aldbar grunted. "Teachers must've been annoyed."

 _Too vague. What do you want to know?_ "Indeed. Flitwick actually—" _Why is Dumbledore staring at Macklesburg? Does he think she'll fight the Dark Lord after she graduates? For the love of Merlin, she's—_

 _Staring at Fortescue._

 _Albus, you old romantic._

"A bit obvious, my boy," Aldbar said, startling him. "Your eyes give so much away." The old man glanced away, sweeping the Great Hall.

Severus sat back in his chair, uneasy at not knowing what expressions he'd shown without realizing it. "I can hardly change my eyes."

"No?" Aldbar finally showed a hint of a grin. He shook his head slightly and his mussed hair fell down in a fringe around his forehead, shielding his eyes. "Windows to the soul they may be, but susceptible to curtains just the same."

Severus was unwilling to admit that his nose looked enormous when he let his hair hang around his face, and so remained silent. Aldbar's grin grew, though, so apparently that thought had leaked out as well.

Aldbar broke into his thoughts once again. "You going to use those sharp eyes to keep your students from ending up in the Hospital Wing?"

Severus' eyes flashed. "I'm not going to make Slughorn's mistakes."

Aldbar only looked at him steadily. "No," he murmured at last. "Your mistakes are different." His eyes fell to Severus' left arm.

And despite everything he had ever forced himself to learn about instinctive behaviors, Severus flinched and glanced quickly in Dumbledore's direction.

"Lesson two: Gryffindors don't like to get their hands dirty any more than Slytherins." Valerius Aldbar sounded faintly reprimanding.

On Aldbar's other side, Madam Pince spoke up. "Professor Aldbar? I noticed you have _The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_ on the course book list, and I wondered if you will be referring to Trimble's other books during the year. I could order in extras so the students have plenty."

Severus took the time while Aldbar was answering to compose himself. Aldbar couldn't possibly know of the Mark — of Dumbledore's arrangement with him. But what other 'mistake' could he be referring to? And why would joining the Order be a mistake?

The doors opened, halting all conversation at the Head Table. Minerva escorted the first years in and the Sorting Hat sang its maddeningly inane song as usual.

The Sorting felt quite a bit different from the Head Table. For one, all the staff apparently made bets on the first-years' Houses. Severus had been surprised, that first year apprenticing under Slughorn, then quietly amused, and now looked forward to it more than any other part of the Welcoming Feast.

Some students were Sorted quickly, leaving them little chance to speculate and testing Severus and Valerius' snap judgments:

"Fawley, Patrick!" _"SLYTHERIN!"_

Some were nearly Hatstalls, resulting in Flitwick and Minerva catching each others' eyes in some private joke while Rolanda and Poppy wagered expensive healing potions:

"Rosslyn, Teresa!" _"HUFFLEPUFF!"_

And some were in between, allowing a comfortable time to evaluate posture and bearing, reflecting on whether or not the name was Muggle, without a long wait tempting the staff to begin betting Hogsmeade weekend supervisions:

"Williams, Sarah!" _"GRYFFINDOR!"_

Minerva carried the Hat to the side of the Head Table while her newest cub stood up. The girl was frowning over at one of the Slytherins, who was oddly quiet as the rest of his House hissed the last firstie. _An Avery, friends with a Selwyn, and they've already noticed her. You've your work cut out for you, Miss Williams._

Aldbar murmured, "They were in the same coach, the ride over. Poor lass doesn't even know what's waiting for her."

Severus was about to agree with him when he saw the same look pass over Fawley and Avery's face simultaneously. It was a look he'd had on his own face, fifteen years old and facing his OWLS, Black's insults ringing in his ears. It was a look that said, ' _Damn their expectations. I'm going to do my best, and no one can stop me.'_

Avery, despite his father and older brother's influence, still couldn't control all his expressions, and he leaned away from Selwyn with a look of disgust. Fawley glanced at him, surprised, and then across the Hall to the Gryffindor table and further to the Hufflepuff table on the far side. The two boys straightened. Their chins rose.

"Saints preserve us," Aldbar breathed.

"There's hope yet," Severus murmured quietly.

"And now we're teachers who can foster that hope. Help Slytherin win this year?" Aldbar's voice had gained a softly pleading tone.

Severus tore his eyes from the boys who'd just decided to abandon their family's legacy and he looked at the man convinced he would be dead in 10 months.

Help Slytherin win the House Cup. Give them something to strive for, something good, despite whatever madness would descend as the war drew ever closer to a bloody end. Teach his students, the children under his care, that they could be great without being evil.

"I will," Severus vowed.

(He meant it.)

 _("What's said is said.")_

And Valerius relaxed.

* * *

 _A/N: So... I procrastinated on Vindicated Auror by posting this instead. But hey, at least I'm getting there! This is a scene I had in my head for a while, and I wanted to show Professor Snape's first day as a teacher from his perspective, but it didn't fit into Sarah's story. What did you think? (Too heavy-handed with the anti-Slytherin-bashing-for-the-love-of-sanity-they're-just-children?)_

 _I may continue this as a series, separate moments from Severus' pov sprinkled throughout Sarah's journey. Yea? Nay?_

 _(Jan 31, 2017)_


	2. All Hallow's Eve

_A/N: This takes place during chapter 9 of The Vindicated Auror. I ran out of inspiration for the next chapter and pounded out 3,000 words for Severus. Eh. At least I'm writing.  
_

* * *

Severus awoke on the 31st of October with a splitting headache.

He groaned, rolled over, and pressed his face into the pillow. Despite knowing that he had a headache potion just a few feet away in his bathroom cabinet, he lay there savoring the feeling of acute misery for a while.

 _This is pathetic,_ he thought at last, and heaved himself out of bed. He stumbled through the narrow walkway he'd forged through the stacks of books and empty cauldrons that he'd left in his room for no particular reason. _Lack of time to deal with them properly, more like._ When he moved into his new quarters he had thought he was well prepared for the life of a teacher, having been an apprentice who did almost all of Slughorn's busywork, gathered all the ingredients (except the expensive ones that Horace likely sold extras of at Knockturn Alley, of course), graded all the homework, and had taught several of the younger classes while his so-called 'Master' piddled about with experiments in the back room.

It turned out being a proper Potions Master with a title and a sprawling room in the dungeons to scatter his belongings across meant that he did everything he'd done before, but also had to be on hand 24-7 to deal with students, learn from Valerius Aldbar what a proper Slytherin Head of House should do, patrol the corridors after hours, find increasingly inventive ways to get out of supervising Hogsmeade visits, and go to the staff meetings Albus seemed so proud of and Minerva, Poppy, Rolanda and Pomona used as excuses to gossip worse than fourth-year girls.

And all that, of course, in addition to "spying" on Dumbledore for the Dark Lord; actually spying on Voldemort for Dumbledore; frantically trying to figure out if Lucius was getting concerned enough about the rampant bloodlust in the Death Eaters to consider defecting, or if he was simply pretending to be wavering in loyalty to trick Severus into admitting his own disloyalty; appearing for Order meetings without, you know, _actually meeting any of the Order,_ because he had to maintain secrecy at all times; and when Muggles and "blood traitors" were killed, toeing the line between not showing his true disgust, looking as though he really was satisfied but was hiding it with "believable sympathy."

 _It's too bloody much, especially with this month from hell. Too many deaths.  
_

Severus arrived at his medicine cabinet and counted four empty spaces before he quickly snatched up the last of his Headache Reliever and downed the whole thing in one gulp. He shuddered at the taste and smiled grimly at the label he'd affixed to the front: _Vial contains five doses. If you drink the entire contents, go eat something or you'll vomit everything in your stomach._

Past Severus was quite a witty fellow.

Present Severus rested his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection in the mirror. He looked awful, to be honest. Dark circles under his eyes, face an unhealthy yellow tinge that wasn't just the abysmal skin he'd inherited from his mother, the skin around his eyes pulled tight even without the headache. Apparently, the human body wasn't meant to function on less than three hours of sleep a night. Or regular doses of the Cruciatus. Or frantic Floo calls from Lily about her friends' deaths, which he'd been unable to do anything about.

His lip curled up in a halfhearted snarl. Surely he could have done _something_. What kind of spy couldn't figure out where the leak had come from? He'd done everything he could to discover the weak spot, but had only turned up the Dark Lord's personal involvement in Dorcas Meadowes' death. Perhaps Voldemort had broken into her mind and learned the identity of the Order members there.

 _Perhaps I should have brought a gun to the first Death Eater meeting and seen if His Royal Darkness could do anything about a Muggle weapon. It'd be satisfying to try anyway. Maybe I can get Fletcher to do it...  
_

Severus sighed. He had to get something in his stomach, and he had to speak with Dumbledore. Voldemort had been tense at the meeting last night, and he'd spoken of the prophecy Severus had reported no less than four times over the course of the evening. He was planning something, Severus was sure of it. And yes, he'd told Dumbledore all of that when he returned to Hogwarts, but maybe the old wizard had thought of something during the night.

* * *

Once he'd reached the Great Hall, Severus nodded to the teachers who were there and took Minerva's usual seat beside Dumbledore.

The older man somehow still twinkled over his half-moon spectacles every morning, no matter whose house had borne the Dark Mark the previous night. Severus used to think it was naivete but now he saw it as a particular brand of courage he would never have.

(He thought of Mary McKinnon and that awful scream, and how she still greeted Minerva with a smile — no matter how shaky — every morning.)

"Good morning, Severus," Dumbledore said cheerfully. "Happy Halloween."

Severus blinked at him and then busied himself with pouring himself a cup of coffee. (Another staff perk but this time he'd won a beautiful chess set from Lucius carved from Viperteeth.) He swallowed gratefully before frowning at the Headmaster. "I still maintain the fact that mornings are never good."

Albus, the old rascal, had the gall to laugh at this like it was an old joke between them.

Severus looked out over the Great Hall. Breakfast on a weekend was much quieter than the other days of the week. For one thing, attendance was not mandatory for the staff like it was on the weekdays. For another, five sevenths of the students didn't have lessons in the morning, which meant most of them stayed in bed until lunch. This meant the ones remaining were the oldest.

(Or a few exceptions like Ivy Nelson, who showed up for every meal without fail, devoured her entire plate, and still looked the same size as a Bowtruckle.)

His NEWT classes were both easier and more difficult than the other five years combined. Potions was not compulsory after their OWLs, which meant either everyone in his classes wanted to be there or had to be there for their chosen field. However, the smaller numbers meant he taught all four Houses at once. It was...interesting.

 _It's a nightmare, is what it is._

Despite everything he, Aldbar, and Minerva were doing, Gryffindor and Slytherin were still at each other's throats every second of the day. And despite what everyone else thought, Hufflepuff could be downright vicious when provoked, and almost everyone in Slytherin was related to someone who had hurt one of their friends. And despite his wildest hopes, Ravenclaw wasn't actually a House of studious, conscientious students who did their homework. Oh no. They somehow managed to turn in three foot essays on Mooncalves when he'd asked for eleven inches on Ashwinder eggs. _How._

And, too, the older students had been privy to their families' toxic stance on blood purity for much longer than their younger counterparts. For example, Olthom, Umbridge, and Wilkes. Olthom and Wilkes were both plainly looking forward to graduating and taking the Mark, and Umbridge was tagging along with a surprising amount of half-sadistic cunning hidden in her girlish persona. The three of them led the others in their group, about six or so, on a destructive campaign around Hogwarts that had Poppy Pomphrey about ready to pull her hair out.

Today Olthom and Wilkes were sitting together, talking quietly with—

Selwyn.

Severus hadn't been able to prove it yet, but he was almost certain Selwyn's father was a Death Eater.

He frowned. Percival Selwyn looked excited, in the smug way of the young when they have information their elders do not. He'd been included by Wilkes pretty early on in the school year, early enough for Aldbar and Severus to wonder if their fathers were closer friends than they'd thought. And right now it looked like Selwyn was sharing information he'd gotten in a letter from his father to an extremely excited Wilkes.

But if Selwyn Sr _had_ been at the meeting last night, he couldn't have had any more clue of what was about to happen than Severus. But many eyes held enough pieces of the same thing to get a clear picture, if one could only put them together. Severus took it as a confirmation.

"Something is going to happen tonight," he told Dumbledore in a low voice.

Albus' shoulders tensed, hardly noticeable unless one paid attention to the enigmatic wizard all day. "That much, I believe, is certain."

* * *

Oddly enough, Severus' morning classes passed without a hitch. After he had finished his classes for the day, he retired to his office to grade papers until lunch. At first nothing seemed out of the ordinary, despite how he had looked for anything otherwise. Then his fireplace flared green and he heard a muffled yelp and a thud and he rolled his eyes.

"Knock first, you mangy mutt," he called. "You know I leave my Floo warded against stray vermin."

"Oh very funny, Snivellus," snapped the unmistakable voice of Sirius Black. "Let me in."

Severus drummed his fingers on his desk for a moment. Normally he would hold out a while longer, make the Maurader actually ask permission before coming in, but he sounded tense, and Severus was still on edge. He flicked his wand at the fireplace, lowering the wards. "Enter," he drawled.

Black stepped out, brushing himself off. "Always gotta have the last word," he muttered to himself. He looked around. "Got anything to eat?"

"No, because unlike yourself I am a wizard employed at an actual job, that of a teacher, which position affords me free meals the envy of pitiable bachelors the world over."

Black rolled his eyes and threw himself into one of the armchairs. Normally the Animagus couldn't keep still, lending an air of half-transformed puppyish eagerness to everything he did, but today he sat unnaturally still.

Severus waited patiently. He could outlast him. He only needed patience.

"What do you want, Black?"

(Not so patiently.)

Sirius looked up and he seemed suddenly young. _Oh gods, we're only 21. We_ are _young_. "Snape…have you...heard anything? From — from You-Know-Who?"

Snape cocked his head and said nothing. Experience had taught him that Black would fill the silence on his own.

Black shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "It's just…I…" He swallowed. "I worry. About James. And Lily. And Harry too, precious tyke." The familiar appellation did not hold its usual affection, instead more of an afterthought than anything.

Snape remained silent. He suspected Black was the Secret-Keeper for the Potters, and the purpose of this visit was likely meant to soothe his fears about Voldemort targeting him. Why he thought _Snape_ would give him such comfort was a mystery.

Black looked back at the fire. "Do you think Lily's—"

 _So you won't talk about what brought you here. All right then._ "I suspect so," Severus answered. "She glows like she did last time."

Sirius smiled, but he did not look away from the fire. "I bet it'll be another boy."

Severus huffed. "And I bet it will be a girl, because you are always wrong." He hauled himself to his feet. "I have to get to lunch, you poor unemployed vagrant. I'd offer you some, but I'm a bastard so I won't."

Sirius didn't laugh like he usually did. He finally tore his gaze from the fireplace and he looked vulnerable in a way the rest of the Blacks never would. "What do you think of Peter?"

Severus blinked. He had not seen that question coming. "I don't think much of him, to be honest," he blurted without thinking. He winced. _You promise Lily you'll be nice to her friends and this is how you do it?_ "I mean, you and Remus are always squabbling like old women and James is always talking about Harry." _How to sound honest without saying that I'm always reciting Potions ingredients to keep from hexing his face off?_ "Peter is so quiet he's easy to forget." _Perfect._

Sirius twisted his fingers together. "Yeah. That's the thing, isn't it?" He suddenly shot to his feet. "Goodbye, Snape," he said, and left without another word.

Severus frowned after him. If even Sirius Black was noticing something in the air, he was right to be worried.

* * *

During lunch Severus could barely eat a bite. He turned his thoughts around and around, trying to catch some clue he had missed and unable to. Minerva, who had swapped seats with Aldbar at the old Auror's request, tried to engage him in conversation but he ignored her.

The Hall sounded a bit quieter than usual but he didn't trust his Occlumency shields to hold up if he looked around.

At one point he felt eyes on him and looked up to see Sybil Trelawney staring at him in confusion. She looked from him to Dumbledore and back again. Severus could have sworn he felt a rush of magic and Trelawney snapped her head around to stare at the Gryffindor table. At…

 _Miss Williams?_ Word had somehow gotten back to Avery about his son's involvement with the Muggleborn and Snape watched the pair in Potions but nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Perhaps Janus Avery's defiant flaunting of his father's ideology was more suited to a Gryffindor than a Slytherin, but-

But why had she caught Trelawney's attention? Had that magic come from her? Was she going to be important somehow? Severus' gut clenched at the thought of another innocent life caught up in some prophecy in this horrifying war. Sarah Williams deserved to live a normal life, surely.

The little first-year stared resolutely back at Trelawney, who shook herself and went back to her meal.

Severus resolved to maneuver the Seer into staying in her room for the evening. He didn't want her out and about where any student could overhear whatever prophecies she might make. Perhaps he would mention All Hallow's Eve as being particularly significant for visions of the future — such visions naturally taking several hours of dedicated meditation to achieve, of course. It would be worth whatever nonsense she managed to come up with later. Course of action decided, Severus went back to worrying at the puzzle which was Tom Riddle's plans for tonight.

* * *

Having left Trelawney safely ensconced in the Divination tower for the evening, Severus left the castle for a walk around the Black Lake, hoping it would clear his head. The air was cool, the sun just kissing the edge of the horizon, and a gentle breeze played with his robes as he walked.

He knew the Dark Lord had planned something for tonight. He knew it possibly involved a magical artifact from one of the older families in the Death Eaters, as he'd seen Voldemort gather those sometimes referred to as his "Knights" — Avery, Malfoy, Nott, Mulciber, and Dolohov. Severus had tried to pay only so much attention as would be normal for one of the younger Death Eaters curious about everything and ready to gain any possible advantage however he could, but also someone who feared the Dark Lord. This meant he had not been able to see much of anything before being dismissed.

Had Dolohov been standing closer? Looking more at ease? With the masks it was difficult to tell and he had to rely on body language. Dolohov had stood tall, to be sure, but then again he always did. The Albanian wizard was incredibly difficult to read.

Severus kicked at a stone in the path and snarled. _I don't have enough information!_

He scowled up at the sky and turned back to the castle, eyes on the Divination tower.

* * *

 _I hate Sybil Trelawney._

Severus ran.

 _I hate Seers._

Severus nearly stumbled on the uneven ground and threw himself forward even faster to regain his balance.

 _I hate prophecies._

He slammed against the gate and almost dropped his wand in his hurry to lower the wards.

 _Prophecies are too vague._

Wards down. He stepped forward — left the barriers of Hogwarts — and Apparated in a single breath.

 _They can mean anything._

He wouldn't have noticed if he had Splinched himself. He wouldn't have noticed much of anything, not with how he stared, inertia completely gone, at the half-destroyed house in front of him.

 _I'm too late.  
_

He found himself at the gate before he registered the will to move. The upper floor was nearly destroyed as though from an explosion within, and the front door was blasted open, laying in splinters on the lawn and the room beyond the threshold. He could see sock-clad feet lying still, embroidered with little Golden Snitches.

He'd seen those socks the day they were gifted, because he'd bought them.

"Potter?" he asked, and oh. His voice was cracking. He made his way to the door.

 _ **The one who saved the life of the Prince will die at the door.**_

He stepped over a chunk of the door and knelt at the — at the—

"James?"

— at the body.

He swallowed, and flicked his wand in a diagnostic charm despite knowing what he'd find.

 _ **He will fail to protect those whom he loves.**_

"No…"

Severus stood up, and stepped around James'— Potter's— around James Potter. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Potter's wand, lying inches from his outstretched fingers.

 _ **The Prince will ascend only to fall.**_

Severus made his way up the stairs, gaining speed as he went, because maybe — maybe he was wrong. Maybe they were still all right. He reached the landing and stopped in his tracks once more. The door at the top decorated in colorful letters hung crookedly on its hinges.

Inside, he could see a boy in a crib, and he wasn't moving.

But as Severus moved forward he stepped on a creaking floorboard and the boy moved, looking up at him. Severus caught his breath in overwhelming relief. His face was streaked with tears and there was a livid red scar splintered like lightning across his forehead, but he was alive. The baby began to cry.

"Oh, Harry," Severus said softly, and wasn't watching where he was going as he moved forward. His foot caught on something and he looked down. He saw red hair and a pretty green dress Sirius said brought out her eyes, and Severus collapsed like a puppet with its strings cut beside Lily's still form.

 _"No. No — Lily — "_

 _ **The Dark Lord will fall but the boy will lose everything though he lives. His father will die at the door.**_

Severus brushed her hair away from her face, casting the charm once again. He knew it was hopeless. "I'm so sorry, Lily. I came as fast as I could."

Harry's crying grew louder and Severus hauled himself to his feet. He stumbled over to the crib as Harry raised his arms. "Un'le Sev," he said. Severus picked him up and the boy began to quiet. "Want Mama," he hiccuped.

Severus swallowed. "Mama is sleeping."

"Want Dada."

Severus didn't notice as his tears fell onto his godson's hair.

* * *

 _A/N: So...there you have it. I wanted another scene here but it was too spoiler-y so it'll have to wait. The ending was surprisingly emotional to write; I actually teared up a little bit, and that never happens? I think it's because of Alan Rickman's performance in this scene..._

 _And now I have m_ _y fix-it fic for Severus 'steps-over-James-Potter's-dead-body-ignoring-crying-baby' Snape. I think if Severus hadn't been such a douche he would have remained friends with Lily. And sure, he'd be jealous of James, but eventually realizing he sees Lily as more of a sister he became sort of friends with James, and therefore the rest of the Mauraders. They would never actually like each other, but they meet up for Christmas and Order meetings and the like, exchanging passive-aggressive gifts and insults while Lily is distracted._

 _(Like the socks - given at their wedding with some kind of sentiment like 'in case you get cold feet because you're sleeping alone because you snore')_

 _And I saw somewhere parents choosing two sets of godparents, one from the father's circle and one from the mother's, and I decided to make this Severus the godfather Lily chose (seeing as how literally no one else in her family is willing to participate in Harry's life). He visited the Potters enough (before they went into hiding) that Harry could recognize him as his "Uncle Sev". Remus will never let him live it down. Ever.  
_

 _Anyway. The closer relationship means Severus is going to be absolutely furious with Sirius Black. Completely. Livid. He's going to take Sirius' hesitant visit as confirmation that Black was planning to betray the Potters, and he isn't going to even listen, much less forgive him.  
_

 _So what did you think?_

 _(May 10, 2017)_


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